


The Scent of Magnolias: The 18th Hunger Games

by MoonlightSalsa



Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Emotional Abuse, F/M, It's nothing too graphic but I'm tagging it anyway, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26155258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlightSalsa/pseuds/MoonlightSalsa
Summary: The scent of magnolias was something that constantly haunted him for the rest of his life.
Series: The Victor With 23 Faces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692511
Comments: 41
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Leah Rockwell, 18 years old**  
_Two months before the reapings_

Hermes is up to his old tricks again. 

This is supposed to be _our_ date, _our_ time together, yet he's making googly-eyes at the leggy blonde waitress from the other side of the cafe. 

This is so typical of him, yet I can't help but feel betrayed when he does stuff like this. He’ll eye up, chat up and butter up any attractive girl he sees, whether he's involved in a relationship or not. Words cannot describe how utterly annoying it is to have him act like this. 

Honestly! 

Like, yeah, that waitress isn't bad-looking, but she doesn't compare to me. For starters, she's older than me, and it shows. At least a good year or two older. I can see it on her face. 

And secondly, she's acting like _such_ a slut. I understand that that dinky little dress and frilly apron is part of the uniform, but none of the other waitresses’ dresses are as short as her. None of them bend over as far as she does, everything under that dress on full display. None of them sway their hips like she does while walking, none of them use sultry tones when talking with the attractive male customers. 

She’s so _shameless._

And Hermes is drinking it all right up. 

I snap my fingers in front of his face to get his attention. He whirls around immediately with a look of guilt. Ah, so he knows he's been caught. Here comes the apology. 

“Sorry, Leah,” he says, jutting out his bottom lip slightly like he always does while trying to look apologetic. “I got distracted.” 

“I know,” I sigh. I rest my chin in one hand and use my other hand to swirl the metal straw around my glass of iced coffee. I make sure to appear bored and displeased. And that I have a slightly sad glimmer in my eyes. 

Hermes picks up on it. He lays his hand on top of the one holding the straw and gives it a squeeze. “Look, tell you what: I'll make it up to you. How about we go hit the Cardturner after I'm finished with training for the day, eh? I can pay, if you want.” 

I smile. “Sure. That sounds great!” I make sure to keep my tone optimistic and polite, looking forward to our new plans. 

Inwardly, however, I'm cackling. He's so easy to play with, he wears his emotions on his sleeve, and it's a cinch to manipulate him into doing what I want. 

The Cardturner is a hip and modern new club that opened two weeks ago. A couple of my friends have already been there and they raved about it to me. All decked out in LED lights, great drinks, even greater service, and loud trendy music with bass lines so hard you can feel them pulse through your veins. 

(Not to mention that there will most certainly be beautiful girls there, meaning that Hermes will ogle them, I can catch him in the act and pretend to be upset, and he'll be apologetic and take me somewhere else amazing to make it up for it.) 

It's also the only club in the District (that I'm aware of, at least) that lets in people under the age of 21, even though that's actually illegal. 

It won't stop the bouncers from letting you in if you give them a wad of cash, however. My friends mentioned to me how they both had to spend half their salaries for the month just to get in. 

That won't be a problem for me and Hermes, though. Hermes’ family is filthy rich. If he can afford to train for the Games, he can afford to get us into that club. 

Speaking of which… 

We have ten minutes until Hermes has to go back to the Academy. If he's going to take a shot at winning the Games, it would be extremely bad form if he were to turn up late. Especially since Magnus Carver himself is taking a class today. You'd be a fool not to want to learn under our first Victor. 

But I'm confident that Hermes will be Victor Number Four, which will put us one Victor above those prissy brats over in District One. 

Not to mention it means I… I mean, _we_ will be set for life. 

I can already taste the gourmet food our chef will prepare for us, smell the sweetest perfumes, feel the fabric of the most stylish clothes money can buy. Me, in an Estelle Autumna dress, with Hermes on my arm in a respectable Hanson Charmer suit, the scents of peppermint and magnolias following us wherever we go. 

I sip the last of my iced coffee as I smile. Yes, that's the life for me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Leah Rockwell, 18 years old**  
_Day Two of the Games_

I'm very proud of Hermes. 

He's standing silhouetted against the twilight sky, a shadow monster of a man, sword in hand, lording proudly above the body of his most recent kill: the girl from Ten. 

And he should be proud! That little outlier brat had tried to run, screaming for her mother all the while, but Hermes caught up to her in no time flat. About time, too. She'd done nothing but wail and cry pitifully. She wasn't Victor material. Not in the slightest. 

And now Hermes is one step closer to victory. Soon to be two steps, because that girl from One isn't looking too good. She tripped over during the chase and hit her head pretty badly against a rock. I hope she dies soon; it's getting disturbing watching her body convulse on the ground. 

She wasn't Victor material either: too busy fussing about her appearance and making sure those hideous crimson nails of hers are in mint condition, making everyone do the dirty work for her. Constantly checking her reflection and whingeing if even a single hair was out of place. 

I hated her as soon as I saw her. 

I hated her even more when she started flirting with Hermes, and even more yet when Hermes started reciprocating. 

That _bitch._

Her cannon suddenly fires and I smile. Good riddance. Hermes turns around and walks back to the cornucopia. He stops briefly to collect the stuff she was carrying before continuing on his way. 

The arena this year is a desert; golden sand peppered with oases. The biggest one holds the cornucopia. It's absolutely gorgeous there; a big, deep blue pool of water surrounded by smooth rocks and tall palm trees gently swaying in the breeze. It almost looks like a holiday resort. 

I find myself drifting off into dreamland. Me and Hermes, resting in sun loungers side by side, nice cold drinks in hand, soaking up the sun. Relaxing in paradise. I'd actually bought a new bikini recently, one with a magnolia pattern on it, and I know that Hermes would go wild if he saw me in it. 

I feel a wide grin spread across my face. Hermes has these Games in the bag. Sure, the boy from One and the girl from Two are still alive, but not for much longer, I reckon. They're much more interested in chatting than fighting to win. It won't be hard for Hermes to sneak up on them. 

And yes, killing your own District partner is a controversial move in certain circles, but who cares? In my opinion, if you're in the arena, you're fair game. 

But if anyone kills Hermes then I will hunt them down myself and make sure their death is as slow and painful as possible. 

I don't think that's going to happen, thankfully. Only five other tributes are alive, and two of the remaining Careers aren't watching their backs. The bloodbath yesterday was an absolute massacre, the most fatal one since the First Games. And many of those that survived got attacked by these vicious crab mutts. These Games have gone by pretty quickly, for which I'm glad. 

The sooner Hermes comes home, the sooner we can start luxuriating in our wealth. 

Especially since there's a very lovely dress that's calling my name. Made of silk and chiffon, it's a lovely mesmerising green colour that'll make everyone's heads turn to look at me. It's not Estelle Autumna, but that's okay. 

I tap my fingernails - scarlet in colour, having painted them yesterday afternoon - impatiently against the table I'm sitting at. _Hurry up, Hermes,_ I think. _Just hurry up and win so I can get that dress._

I catch a glimpse of the look on his face and frown. 

Why does he look so despondent? He's so close to winning!


	3. Chapter 3

**Leah Rockwell, 18 years old**   
_One Week after the Games_

Today is going to be a great day. 

Hermes is finally arriving back home to District Two. Which means that he'll be moving into the Victor’s Village, and he'll be taking me along with him. Well, he never actually said he would, but I mean, come on! It's pretty obvious he will. We're the perfect couple. We're _supposed_ to live together. 

I'm standing on the platform at the train station, surrounded by all these other nobodies who are only here because they want to get a piece of the action that comes with being associated with a Victor. Seriously, I've never seen half these people before in my life! Like that kid over there wearing the yellow raincoat and the black beanie. He's jumping up and down with a big cheesy grin, like he actually cares about Hermes. Honestly, who does that kid think he is…? 

...Oh wait, I think that’s his brother. Never mind. 

...But my point still stands for the others! They're all just a bunch of attention whores, looking for any scrap of recognition. Sad. 

But whatever. They're not important to me, so I push them out of my mind and instead focus on what’s coming. 

I'm really excited. I'd gone shopping yesterday and decided to splurge on some new clothes, in celebration of Hermes’ victory. I'm wearing those new clothes right now: a cute white lace dress, sheer stockings, white strappy shoes so shiny I can see my reflection in them. 

I also bought new perfume. It smells just like a bouquet of freshly picked magnolias. 

Hermes will love it. He has to, anyway. 

I can hear rumbling in the distance. The train is approaching. The noise stirs new life in the crowd and they all grow quieter, craning their necks out to get a glimpse of the train as it rolls steadily towards us. 

It doesn't take long for the train to pull up alongside the platform. All the paparazzis in the crowd ready their cameras. I discreetly check my reflection in the train’s shiny grey surface, making sure my hair is perfect. I don't want to be photographed having a bad hair day. 

The door of the train slides open and out steps Hermes, dressed in a creaseless and well-fitted navy blue suit. Right on his heels is the escort, an annoying woman with yellow hair. Not blonde, _yellow._ And bringing up the rear is Ludo Martin, our second ever Victor, who is obviously proud to have mentored the winning tribute. 

Hermes barely gets the chance to even so much as look in his family’s direction before I'm upon him. I smile at him, and he smiles back. Now that I'm up close I can see that he has bags under his eyes. Gross. No one likes a zombie. But oh well, I'll just have to take what I can get. 

“Enjoy your trip to the Capitol?” I ask sweetly, fluttering my eyelashes just so. 

“I sure did,” he replies, but now his smile feels hollow, for some reason. It was only for a second, however, and then he's back to normal. “Did you miss me?” 

“Horribly so,” I say before pressing my lips against his in a deep kiss that makes the paparazzis sigh. I hear the millions of little clicks of their camera shutters, and I smile. 

When we break apart, Hermes sniffs. “New perfume?” 

“Aw, I'm so glad you noticed!” I play with a lock of my hair. “I bought it just for you. Do you like it?” 

“Of course I do.” And there's that hollow smile again! Seriously, is he even trying to be happy for the cameras? I feel like I'm the only one doing any work. 

_It'll all be worth it,_ I tell myself. _You'll be sitting in the lap of luxury before too long. You would have earned it. Be patient._


	4. Chapter 4

**Leah Rockwell, 23 years old**   
_One Week after the 23rd Games_

Fuck Medea Walton. Fuck that ugly, rotten, two-faced skank and her skanky behavior. 

I see what she's doing. Does she seriously think she can fool me? She may have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, but she can't cover mine. 

I can see her practically slobbering all over Hermes’s arm as they stand side by side: mentor and mentee. Or, as I'm sure how she sees it: poor lonesome girl and future boyfriend. She insists that they're just friendly, just a team. The paparazzis are eating it all up. 

Lying bitch. 

She's wrecking the whole night! 

The Victor’s banquet is meant to be a glorious affair. It's held inside the Presidential Mansion and hosted by the President himself. Only the Victors, their personal guests, and a few esteemed members of the public are allowed inside. There's always a grand opening of the doors to welcome everybody inside. But before then, we have to wait outside and the rest of the Capitol’s population take the chance to see those lucky enough to get to go inside. And that includes paparazzis. 

So not only has the night not truly begun yet, but it's already being ruined. 

And not only that, but now the whole nation’s going to think that Hermes and Medea are a thing! 

I can feel my blood start to boil and I clench my fists. I feel my nails dig into my palms and remember that I had only gotten them done a few hours ago. When I unclench them, I suddenly feel a bit better. 

_It's okay,_ I think. _There's still plenty of time before the doors open. You can still fix things. That little wench won't get away with this._

After adjusting the front of my dress so it hangs low over my chest just right, I glide over to where the two of them are standing. I shoot a glare at Medea as I take Hermes by his other arm. 

“Hello sweetie.” I say as I kiss his cheek. 

Hermes wraps his arm around me. Just like he's supposed to. “Hello to you too.” 

Out the corner of my eye I can see the cameras snapping away. Good. Reputation saved. 

I can also see Medea narrow her eyes at me. Um, no honey. You don't get to look at me like that after what you did. Naughty girl. She'll have to be punished later, but not right now. I need time to think of an appropriate act of vengeance. Not to mention the fact that Hermes and I are at the centre of attention. This is an opportunity that can't be squandered! 

As Hermes and I pose for the cameras, I overhear Medea strike up a conversation with Lapis, that basic bitch from One who won the year before last. 

“She's _such_ an attention whore,” I hear Medea say. “Look at her, lapping it all up like a cat with a saucer of cream.” 

“Look at her dress,” Lapis responds. “It's so low in the front you can practically see her boobs. That's the sort of thing you'd expect Celestia Darcy to wear.” 

Excuse me? Did I hear that correctly? 

Did Lapis fucking Royale, with her boring dress and boring jewellery and boring personality, _dare_ to compare me to that prostitute-moonlighting-as-a-model Celestia fucking _Darcy?_

It gets worse, because just then that grumpy dumbfuck Harlan joins in on the conversation. “She's such a leech too. She's only with him for the fame and fortune. I have no idea what he sees in her.” 

The Nineteenth Games would have been so much better if our female tribute had just stabbed that fucker during the bloodbath instead of trying to be “merciful” or whatever. 

I can barely contain my rage as the conversation continues. I try to keep a happy face for the cameras, but those shallow, insensitive losers are really trying my patience. 

When Medea insults my perfume, comparing the scent of magnolias to a cloud of noxious gas, I nearly lose it. 

I instead channel my anger by forcefully gripping Hermes’s hand. He winces and turns to face me. “That hurt, Leah!” 

Oh, I wish he would quit complaining. It's just a little squeeze. It's not like I deliberately hurt him or anything. 

I would like to deliberately hurt so many other people, though. Namely: Medea Walton, Lapis Royale and Harlan Bovin.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, it's a personal headcanon that the Internet still exists in Panem, but the only places to have it are the Capitol and Districts One and Two, since they're the richest, and Three, being the technology district. As well as anyone else in the other districts who are rich enough to afford not only a computer but also a modem.

**Leah Rockwell, 25 years old  
** _Day 4 of the 25th Hunger Games_

Normally I'd shut the curtains before undressing, but since the floor I'm on is quite high up, I'm not too worried. Besides, if anyone did see me, I'd be perfectly fine with that. Imagine if someone took an unsolicited photo of me and posted it online! That would be quite scandalous! And maybe it would teach Hermes a lesson about fidelity. 

****

It's a hot night, being summertime and all, so the windows are open as well. There's a slight breeze too, just enough to take the edge off the heat. It makes the curtains flutter out from the windows. 

********

The small faux-chandelier is on, but set to the dimmest setting. Along with a lamp on my bedside table, it provides the only light. It's a warm, ambient glow that makes the whole room seem very cozy. 

********

In the corner is the television displaying live footage of the Games. In the reflection of my mirror, I can see the girl from Five tussling with the girl from Eight. I don't care who wins; I don't particularly like either of them. In fact, I don't really care about the Games at all right now. There are much more important things to do with my time. 

********

Like inspect my reflection, for instance. 

********

I'd convinced Hermes to take me to the Crystal Cavern spa today, and it was absolutely amazing! I'd had a great time… and then he had to ruin it by chatting up that deaf dumb bitch from Twelve. The one who won last year. He claimed that he just wanted to buy her lunch to cheer her up, but I'm not convinced. 

********

He's got the whole city wrapped around his thumb, though. I saw an online article from that site Tattler, which is absolutely full of hacks, that made my blood boil. I was scrolling through my feed when I saw the title: _Hermes Massassi and his heart of gold!_

********

And then the following passage: _Hermes Massassi (18th Games) was spotted at Chantilly Coffee House today with Jemima Sinclair (24th Games) eating their famous chocolate chiffon cake! When asked about why, Hermes stated that he felt bad about his tribute killing both of hers yesterday and wanted to make up for it! Aww! How sweet of him! Jemima certainly seemed much happier than when we saw her yesterday! She declined to comment but it was pretty obvious she was enjoying herself! And who wouldn't?_

********

Words cannot begin to describe how furious I am right now. I know that you can't exactly expect accurate information from fucking Tattler of all places, but come on! The truth is right there for the whole world to see! How are they so blind to it? 

********

The whole city is being fed their lies! Over the next few hours I'd also seen this story posted to Neighbourhood Gossip, NewNewsToday, and Summer Fun, and it's only a matter of time before Neropolitian gets their hands on it. 

********

Those two little whores are going to _pay._

********

I glance over at the television. The Five girl stands victorious over the Eight girl as blood pools on the ground. At least, I think it's the Eight girl. It might actually be the Three or Ten girl. They all look so similar. But that Five girl, there’s no mistaking that curly hair or the way she curls her lip in disgust. 

********

I turn back to the mirror. Time to block out all unpleasant thoughts and focus on the most pleasant of them all: me! 

********

That spa visit did wonders for me. My skin is glowing, all excess and unnecessary hair has been plucked, there are the lingering scents of orange and lemon, and overall every one of my feathers has been elevated to perfection. I mean, I was already perfect, but this is still amazing. 

********

In the soft light of my room, I look practically luminescent. My hair shines, like it's made of gold. I run my hands over my arms, chest, shoulders, back and stomach, in awe at how soft and smooth everything is. 

********

The silver gown I was wearing is draped on the floor around me in a circle enclosing my feet. Exactly where I'd left it after taking it off. It sparkles in the light. By the chair next to the window, my silver heels are also sparkling, like they're encrusted with diamonds- hang on, now I really want a pair of shoes encrusted with diamonds! 

********

The air freshener goes off then, filling the room with the lovely scent of magnolias. It's my job to pick the scent; Hermes is useless at it. He wanted Tropical Breeze, like seriously? I'm not having that! It's magnolias or nothing! 

********

Speaking of Hermes, he should be back any moment. He called me earlier, saying he had to do a few things first. He refused to specify what exactly and wouldn't answer me when I asked. Fucking rude. 

********

He's probably still out with Jemima; god I hate that bitch. I feel like I'm going to slap her next time I see her! Mark my words, I’ll show her what happens when you think you can steal my man out from under my nose and can get away with it! 

********

Ooh, my palm is absolutely itching to slap that stupid pitiful expression right off her face! 

********

But wait till Hermes gets home, he'll really be in for it then! 

********


	6. Chapter 6

**Leah Rockwell, 28 years old**  
_Two days after the 28th Hunger Games_

I storm down the hallway towards the kitchen. I'm so angry I can barely even think. The bottle of bourbon I drank earlier isn't exactly helping matters, but who the fuck gives a shit about that right now?! 

Especially since I just lost my fucking bet! 

And it’s all Hermes’s fault! 

He's the one who convinced me to bet on that Henley girl, her being from our district and all, telling me that the payoff would be amazing. And he was right. The payoff was amazing. 

The only problem is, I didn't get it! 

We were so close to winning. Henley would finally get another victory for Two. I would have been rolling in cash. But no, that slimy bastard from One had to sneak up and spear her from behind! He couldn't even face her head on, what a coward! 

Like, for fuck’s sake, District One just had a Victor two years ago! Why can't they just back off and let us have a turn? 

But, it's not them I'm angry at. 

Hermes wouldn't stop telling me how Henley had a really good chance of winning this year. In fact, he'd be surprised if she didn't win. That's how high the odds were in her favour, apparently. 

Well, to that I say: the odds lied to me. And so did Hermes. 

If he hadn't been blabbering on about how Henley will totally win, then I wouldn't have felt compelled to bet on her. And maybe if he had also mentored her properly, then I wouldn't be short a thousand dollars. Stupid bastard. Why do I ever listen to him? 

I march into the kitchen. Hermes is sitting at the table with a glass of wine and a newspaper. His head jerks up when he hears me enter. His mouth is wide open, so much so that I can practically see flies buzzing in and out of it. The avox serving the after-dinner coffee and sweets looks terrified. Good. But I'm not concerned about the bloody avox. 

I shove past the avox, sending the tray flying, and stomp right up to Hermes. He doesn't even have the chance to say anything because I immediately slap him across the face. 

He falls from his chair and sprawls on the floor. His cheek is bright red. He turns his head and looks at me, pain and betrayal in his eyes. What the fuck makes him think he has the right to look betrayed? He's the one who screwed me over! I'm just teaching him a lesson. Besides, it's not like I hit him that heard anyway. He's just being overdramatic. 

Hermes stands up with one hand pressed against his cheek. There are tears of pain in his eyes. What a pussy. 

“What the fuck was that for?!” he cries pathetically, like he doesn't know what he did to me. 

“You know full fucking well what you did!” I say loudly, pointing my finger at him. “You bastard!” 

“No, I don't know what I did! You never told me anything was wrong!” 

“Are you kidding me? We're partners, you're supposed to know when something's wrong! But no, you just sit around with your fucking drink and your fucking newspaper-” I kick the newspaper across the tiled floor “-and you don't even know anything! You don't care! You fucking selfish-” 

“For fuck’s sake, I'm not a goddamn mindreader, Leah,” Hermes is getting angry now. “If something's wrong, just come and tell me like an adult.” He turns away and goes to retrieve the newspaper. 

Something inside me snaps. How _dare_ he pin this all on me when he's the one who started it? How _dare_ he insinuate that I'm the bad guy here? 

I take his wine glass off the table and pull my arm back, aiming for the back of his head. Before I can throw it however, the avox comes up behind me, grabbing my wrist with one hand and taking the glass with the other. The avox looks scared shitless, but she keeps the glass away when I reach for it. 

Hermes is staring at me too, while keeping one eye on the glass. His face looks absolutely terrified. He's gone all pale as he stands there clutching the newspaper in his hands. 

There is an awful silence in the room as we all stare at each other, and it takes the wind out of my sails. No one is saying anything. I take a deep breath to bring myself back to a clearer headspace. Now that the situation has somewhat returned to normal, I suddenly don't see any point in continuing this confrontation. For now, at least. 

“This isn't over,” I hiss. “You _will_ pay for this.” And then I spin on my heel and walk away, calm and collected.


	7. Chapter 7

**Leah Rockwell, 29 years old**   
_12th February, 29 ADD (2229), three months before the 29th Hunger Games_

The lights here are too harsh, too bright. It hurts my eyes just to look at them. For some reason, the air conditioning is on full blast, even though it's barely even spring yet. It's already cold enough outside, for fuck’s sake! 

The tiles on the floor are absolutely spotless. Whoever cleans them does a better job than the avoxes back home. I can literally see my reflection in them. And since everyone else in the waiting room is hogging all the magazines, I have nothing better to do than inspect my reflection. 

I'm in the middle of curling my hair around my fingers when my phone rings. I dig it out of my handbag and answer it. To my utter distaste, it's Medea. And I know exactly what she's calling me for. 

“What the fuck do you want?” I snap. 

“What the actual fuck have you done, Leah?” she screeches at me. “What's the matter with you?” Her voice is hoarse from the cold that's been keeping her out of commission for the past few days. I inwardly snicker. An ugly voice to match her ugly heart. 

“What do you mean, what's the matter with me?” I growl. “He's the one who started it!” 

Medea sputters on the other end of the line. “That doesn't mean you can just put him in the hospital!” 

“Well then, he shouldn't have wrecked the whole night!” 

“You are unbelievable! How the fuck do you sleep at night?!” 

“You should ask him that! He fucking loves causing me problems, that smug bastard. I'm not just going to sit back and let him get away with it!” 

There's silence on Medea’s end for a moment, and I hope that I've finally gotten through to her; whether she likes it or not, Hermes got what was coming to him. 

And then she speaks again, and those hopes are dashed. “What does he even see in you?” I open my mouth to retort, but she hangs up. 

I grip my phone tightly, my hand shaking with rage. What is _wrong_ with these people? How can they not see? Hermes was the one who fucked up; I was just putting him in his place. If he doesn't want bad things to happen to him, then maybe he shouldn't piss me off. 

Ugh. It's so hard loving someone when they constantly get under your skin. 

But no one understands: not Medea, not the other Two Victors, not Hermes’s family; hell, not even my own family. They all constantly berate me as if _I'm_ the bad one. As if _I'm_ the one who needs to be put in her place. Why can't they just look past his good looks and winning smile and Victor status and realise that _he's_ the problem, not me. They're all enablers. They let him get away with so much stuff that _I_ could never get away with. 

He's turned them against me. I used to have much more respect than this! I have no doubt in my mind that he's been telling them all sorts of things; about how I'm horrible and abusive and selfish and violent. And they let themselves believe those lies, without even so much as asking me for my side of things! 

It really is difficult, being the partner of a Victor. 

I tighten my grip on my phone, so much so that I might crack it. 

_That bastard… This is all his fault. If he'd have just kept his mouth shut, then none if this would've happened. I wouldn't be sitting here freezing my ass off in a hospital waiting room, being bored out of my mind._

It seems like no matter how many lessons I try and teach him, he won't learn.


	8. Chapter 8

**Leah Rockwell, 29 years old**   
_Day before the reapings for the 29th Hunger Games_

I hear the scrape of the key in the lock, and I sigh in frustration. Finally! Took him long enough to come home! I've been waiting for hours. For some reason, Hermes has a nasty habit of being late. It's not all the time, but it's enough to drive me mental. 

As the door swings open, I keep my head down and rearrange the magnolias. They're freshly cut, straight from the finest botanist in the district. Their sweet scent fills the room. I'd ordered several massive bouquets, so I can put one in each main room in the house: kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom. They're truly gorgeous flowers; befitting a home and people like us. 

Hermes comes up and hugs me from behind, but I swat him away when he tries to kiss my neck. He absolutely stinks of sweat and that nasty air freshener the Academy uses, which smells like a pine forest. Yuck. 

“Hello honey, how was your day?” he asks. 

“Just fine.” 

He looks around me and peers at the magnolias. I catch him frowning for a split second. I frown in response to that. “What is it now, Hermes?” I snap. “What's bothering you this time?” 

His eyes widen pitifully in response. Why's he looking at me like that? He's the one who's in a mood, not me. 

“It's nothing…” he says quietly, “it's just that… I'm just a little sick of magnolias. Can we please try getting other kinds of flowers?” 

There isn't even enough time to blink before I slap him squarely across the face. He doesn't fall down like he used to, but he stumbles backwards a little. He presses a hand to his cheek and looks at me with watery eyes. He looks like a naughty child who just got punished. It's pathetic. 

He opens his mouth, but I start talking before he can. “Don't even think about asking me what that was for,” I say sharply, “you know full well what that was for.” I fold my arms and glare at him. He cowers like an abused dog, and I can tell that he doesn't really understand. Of course he doesn't. He's about as dumb as a dog, too. 

“I've told you this before, Hermes. I'll only allow magnolias in this house. They're perfectly good flowers. Why you insist on wanting to get others is beyond me, honestly. I work hard to make this house look even halfway presentable, and you want to ruin it with some ugly flowers?” 

Hermes blinks away a couple of tears. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, like he wants to say something. Alright then, I'll hear him out, I guess. It better be an apology. 

“Something you want to say to me, Hermes?” 

He breathes deeply, like he's trying to prepare himself for something. For goodness sake, it can't be that mentally taxing to apologize to someone, is it? 

Finally, he speaks. There's a nervous wobble to his voice, which is very soft. It's an obvious attempt to get me to ‘calm down’, which I do not appreciate. I'm not angry; I hit him, yes, but I didn't yell at him or anything. He's making up problems where there are none. 

But it's his actual words that set me off. 

“It's just that… well… I live here too, and I want to choose the flowers…” 

“Well guess what, Hermes?” I bark at him. “You're not the only one who lives in this house! You're being incredibly selfish, thinking you can make all the decisions around here. What about me, huh? Enough of what _you_ want; what about what _I_ want? I have just as much right to decide things around here, you know. And to be honest, you have really terrible taste in interior design. Honestly, I have no idea how you'd survive if you didn't have me.” 

Hermes nods along obediently to all my words. I'm glad he's listening, but he still hasn't done what I want him to. So I glare harder and raise my eyebrow. 

“Is there anything else you'd like to say to me, Hermes?” 

Hermes glances down at the floor. I clear my throat pointedly and he immediately makes eye contact with me. His expression is one of despondency. Rude, ungrateful bastard. 

There's silence for another few moments. I clear my throat again, more aggressively this time, to make him hurry up. Seriously, he acts like owning up to his mistakes is the worst thing in the world, or something. 

Finally, Hermes speaks. 

“I'm sorry, Leah.” 

I tap my foot impatiently. “For what?” 

“For insulting your choices and being ungrateful.” 

I grumble. “Took you long enough to realise what you did wrong, plus, if I'm being honest, I've heard more sincere apologies from that bitch Medea. But, since I'm in a good mood today, I'll accept it. You may go.” 

Hermes wastes no time in leaving the room. Once I'm alone, I sigh. 

Who would have ever thought that being a girlfriend was this strenuous?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a trigger warning for a rape scene. Please read at your own discretion.

**Leah Rockwell, 30 years old**  
_18th May, ADD 30 (2230), one month before the 30th Hunger Games_

I light the last candle and blow out the match. The faint smell of charred wood is quickly overpowered by the sweet scent of plum and rose. I breathe it in and smile. 

These scented candles were such a good purchase! Hermes and I went on a trip to the Capitol recently for a photoshoot, and while I was there I took the opportunity to explore a few new shops which had opened up, one of which sold beautiful handmade cosmetics, soaps, perfumes and candles. They're all-natural too, using only the finest ingredients. Only the best for me, after all! 

I'd bought a lot from that store. Hermes frowned when he saw the laden bags on my arms, but wisely didn't say anything. I bought it all for a very special occasion, which he will see very soon. 

It's the fifteenth anniversary of when we became a couple. Of course I would go all-out for it! 

There's special shades on the lamps, which give the whole room a warm, lusty atmosphere. The bedsheets are clean and I've scattered rose petals - real ones, not those horrid fake ones - over them. A ridiculously expensive bottle of champagne sits on the bureau next to two of our fanciest frosted glasses. 

And, I'm wearing a brand-new set of lingerie. Hermes can't say that I don't treat him well. 

Speaking of Hermes, where the fuck is he? 

He had to do a lesson at the Academy and said he'd be back by seven, but it's now nine o’clock and there's no sign of him. Come on! After all the work I've done trying to make this night memorable! I deserve to have my time respected! 

I wander over to the window, open the curtains, and look out over at Medea’s house. I've caught Hermes sneaking over there before, and if he's there now, then so help me… 

To my luck, most of Medea’s curtains are open and I can see right into most of her rooms relatively clearly. She's having a gathering with all the other female Victors. 

I remember now! She'd been bleating on about it for months now, saying how much fun she and the others are going to be having. She does this every time we get a new female Victor, but never before has she been so subtle about her dislike for me. 

I fucking know that bitch deliberately scheduled it for this night. She knows it's an important date for us and I know she's trying to ruin it for us, because that's just how petty she is. 

I watch the windows with narrowed eyes. If Hermes is indeed over there, no doubt he'd be in paradise, surrounded by easy women. 

But I don't see Hermes. Instead, I see Berry balancing a stack of books on her head in the living room while Medea and Lillian cheer her on. I see Jemima twirling around with that old hag Garland, while obnoxiously loud music blasts from the stereo. I see Lapis surreptitiously stealing petit fours off the plate of Hillis, the newest, shiniest female Victor, while Victoria shakes her head with a frown. 

Upstairs, Mara is adjusting her hair in the bathroom while chatting with Mags, who is balancing on the edge of the bathtub and leaning back to look at the ceiling, for some weird reason. And… 

What's this? 

Electra is in the master bedroom, rifling through Medea’s bureau drawers. Every so often she’ll take out an object, inspect it closely, then either put it back or stuff it down the front of her dress. I peer closely, wanting to see if I can catch a glimpse of what she's hiding in her dress. 

Eventually Electra shuts all the bureau drawers and moves on to the bedside table. She pulls open the top drawer and shuts it immediately. She opens the second one down, and even though I'm watching at a distance, I can see her resting-bitch expression change into her version of gleeful. 

She slowly reaches her hands into the drawer, but before I can see what she's grabbing, I suddenly hear a “Hi, Leah!” emanating from outside. 

I look down to see that the living room window is now wide open and Garland is leaning out of it, with most of the others crowding round behind her. She waves jovially up at me. 

I don't return it. Instead, I open my window and shout out of it. “What do you want?” 

Garland doesn't falter in her annoying enthusiasm. “Just saying hi! What are you up to?” 

I fold my arms and glare down at her. “I was trying to have a nice, romantic, _peaceful,_ evening with Hermes, thank you very much!” 

Garland grins at me. “But he's not in the house yet, is he?” 

“How the hell do you know?” 

“Because I can see him walking through the front door. Hi, Hermes!” 

And, unbelievably, I hear him call out a hello in return, which makes everyone giggle. Then the front door swings shut with a bang. 

Now that their entertainment is over, those next door shut the window and return to their business. Good. About time. 

I look upstairs. In the bathroom, Mara and Mags stare at me for a moment then continue their conversation. In the master bedroom, Electra’s eyes meet mine, before she shuts the drawers and scurries out the room like a frightened rabbit. 

I decide to keep what I saw to myself. Medea can handle having a few of her belongings pinched; she can afford to replace them. And, let's be honest: she deserves it. 

I listen as Hermes drops his stuff in the entrance hall and thuds up the stairs in those ridiculous thick-soled shoes that I hate so much. When he enters the room, I'm already severely displeased. 

He looks around the room. “Hello, honey. Have you been planning something?” He kisses my cheek. I grunt in response. Then I notice he has something in his hands. A rectangular-shaped wrapped gift tied with a bow. 

He holds it out to me with a smile. “Happy anniversary, Leah.” 

I take it and tear off the wrapping paper. Inside is a box of lotions and skin creams. _Moonlight Magic,_ the label reads. _With soothing scents for the ultimate in comfort and relaxation. Guaranteed for a good night’s sleep._ And there are magnolias on the labels! Not a bad gift, Hermes. Not bad at all. 

“Thank you,” I say, then put the box on my bureau. “Now, it's time for me to give you my gift.” 

Hermes gives me a tired smile. “I think I can guess what it is.” 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” I plant my hands on my hips. “Get undressed, and then we can get down to business.” 

Hermes’s smile falters as he rubs the back of his neck. “Actually Leah, I'm feeling pretty tired tonight. Can we do this some other time?” 

I stare at him in shock. What the fuck is wrong with him? First he shows up late, wasting my precious time, then he doesn't want to do anything? 

I fold my arms. “Excuse me, but can't you see how much work I put in to make tonight special? The least you can do is be a little more reciprocative.” 

“I'm sorry Leah, but I just don't feel like it tonight. I appreciate the work and all, but I've had a long day and I just want to sleep.” Hermes starts undressing and I feel my blood beginning to boil. 

I'm not about to let all my hard work go to waste! I did not wait up an extra couple of hours just for him to blow me off as if I was nothing! 

Hermes dresses in his pyjamas and crawls into bed, shutting off his lamp. I get in next to him, turning off my own lamp. 

“I'm sorry,” I lie. “I'm just disappointed, that's all.” 

“I'm sorry too. I'm just not in the mood tonight. I promise I'll make it up to you sometime soon.” He gives me a peck on the cheek, then rolls over onto his side, facing the window with his back to me. 

There! I've gotten him to lower his guard! It's too easy, really. Hermes is so gullible. Does he actually think I'd give up so easily? 

The only light in the room comes from the scented candles. I watch the light flicker off of Hermes’s hair for a while until I'm sure he's asleep, or at least close to it. Then I make my move. 

Moving quickly, I lay his body flat on the bed and then straddle him. I roughly press my lips to his as I wind my fingers through his hair. If I feel really closely in just the right spots, I can feel the scar from when he had to go to hospital. 

I run my fingers along it. A reminder of what happens when you cross me. 

Hermes stirs beneath me. His arms raise up, his hands press against me, trying to push me off, but I don't let him. Instead, I kiss him harder, biting his lip, reminding him who's in charge here. 

He’ll give up soon. He’ll realise how futile it is, and stop resisting. He always does. 

Just then I hear a new song begin to play from Medea’s house. This song is hellishly loud, with so much bass that it's practically shaking her house and ours. 

Out of frustration, I bite Hermes’s lip. Hard. He winces. I growl at him and he pipes down. 

I wish everyone would just shut the fuck up sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, everyone. Even I felt gross writing this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Leah Rockwell, 32 years old**   
_Two days after the 32nd Hunger Games_

Hermes is gone. 

I sat in that restaurant for an embarrassing two hours before I realised he wasn't coming. He hadn't answered his phone once during all that time. And none of the other Victors can tell me where he is. 

When I got back to our apartment, he wasn't there either. Neither were his wallet and phone. He's definitely out there somewhere, in the city streets. Selfish bastard. 

I painstakingly planned a lot of fun things tonight, to celebrate the fact that Hermes is now officially the first, and only, mentor to successfully mentor two winning tributes in a row. Even though those tributes themselves are really nothing to be proud of - Torrent is too oafish and Leto can't take a damned thing seriously. 

Why is it that all of Hermes’s winners are the worst possible tributes to have? Medea, Torrent, Leto - they all suck. Not necessarily in the same ways, but they still suck regardless. 

It's honestly embarrassing to be out in public with any of them, especially when Hermes doesn't even try and correct their behavior. It's amazing how my reputation isn't completely in tatters by now. 

It's so noisy outside; everyone's celebrating our new Victor, and the fact that Hermes had made history. But of course, he isn’t around to celebrate with me. 

Fuck it. I'm going to search for him. 

And when I find him, I'm going to beat his ass. 

I leave the apartment. The streets are packed, confetti and banners are flying everywhere, people are passing round drinks and sweets, music is blasting. I would be having a good time, if not for the fact that I'd just been stood up. 

I check every single bar and nightclub in a five-street radius. I'm right in the middle of party town, so this takes a while. Despite my best efforts to search, I keep getting distracted. There are a lot of cute guys around, all a million times more handsome than Hermes. But I don't have time to play around. I have a bastard to beat some sense into. 

As I turn onto street number six, I catch sight of him through the windows of what is probably the trashiest nightclub in the whole country. Fucking really? I would have thought that Hermes had higher standards than this! 

I storm through the doors, pushing past the bouncer. Hermes and a few other Victors are dancing away without a single goddamned care in the world. 

“HERMES!” I bark. Everyone stops, falls silent and stares at me. 

Hermes freezes instantly. I march over to him. 

“How could you, Hermes? How _could_ you?” I yell. “I was waiting for _hours,_ Hermes. _Hours._ I wanted to have a nice dinner with you, and then I find you dancing away in some club without me? How could you do this to me?” 

There's no sound other than the music. Hermes just stares at me, with a stupid blank expression on his stupid face. 

“I'm really sorry, but I didn't know you'd organized something.” His words are careful, but not careful enough. 

“How could you not know?” 

Hermes tenses up. “Because you never told me about it?” 

I fold my arms and glare at him. “Oh, so it's _my_ fault, is it? It's all _my_ fault? Is that it? It's all on me?” 

“Aw, cheer up, Leah,” Leto suddenly appears behind me, holding a beer bottle. “You should totally come dance with us, it's fun!” 

I elbow her roughly in the stomach, causing her to back off. Hermes gasps as I do so. 

“Leah, don't hurt her!” 

“So? You've already hurt me! You stood me up, you bastard!” Hermes gulps at my words. Leto stands there awkwardly, eyes flitting about nervously. 

“What's the trouble here?” It's the bouncer, the one I pushed past in order to get in. 

“Nothing,” I say to him, managing a weak smile. Then I turn back to Hermes. “When we get home, you're in big trouble, mister!” 

The crowd ‘oohs’ as I march outside. Hermes is hot on my heels. He tries to grasp at my hand but I snatch it away, then slap him across his. 

“Leah please, I'm sorry!” Hermes cries, pushing past people on the sidewalk. “I'll make it up to you, I swear!” 

“Forget it Hermes, there's nothing you-” 

Then suddenly I'm yanked back by the straps of my dress, right as a large red sports car suddenly zooms past me, clipping the sidewalk hard enough for everyone to cover their ears at the sound it makes. It speeds off down the street and several people squeal in fright. 

I stand and stare after it for a moment, the shock of it almost enough to stop my heart. My chest heaves up and down with huge breaths. People murmur worriedly about ‘dangerous driving’. 

I turn around to see that it was Hermes who saved me. He stares at me with an expression of nasty shock. It takes a moment for him to speak. 

“Holy shit, that was close. Are you alright, Leah?” 

I nod and slide closer to him, throwing my arms around him. “My hero,” I breathe, and I hear several people clap and cheer. At least Hermes is good for something. 

But then something horrible happens. 

I realise that the straps of my dress had broken only when it suddenly falls down, exposing me to the entire street. I gasp at the same moment the others begin to laugh. Leto in particular is practically rolling on the ground. 

I can feel my face growing redder and redder by the second. Everyone's laughter is like the devil’s cackling to my ears. Their faces all bleed into one big, gleeful expression. Oh my god, this is fucking awful! How could this happen to me? 

I slap Hermes across the face, for what I suspect would not be the last time this evening. 

“Now look at what you've done!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Leah Rockwell, 36 years old**  
_Five months before the 36th Hunger Games_

So, Hermes thinks he can just run off without me, eh? 

He thinks that I don't know how to find him. He thinks that I'd give up so easily? Well, he's wrong! So very wrong! 

I know exactly where he is! And when I find him, I'm gonna beat his ass! 

There's a dance performance at the Sinclair theatre tonight, starring his little deaf friend and the Whore From Four. Chances are, he'll be there. He's going to be ogling them in their skimpy little costumes, the traitorous bastard. I just know he will. 

The thought makes me sick. Why the fuck would he need to pick up other women when he has me? 

My face tightens in an expression of pure rage as I march through the entrance hall and into the seating area. I feel my temper rise as I see Jemima’s head peeking out from behind the curtain onstage. I don't hesitate to climb up and storm over to her. My footsteps vibrate violently and I clench my teeth. 

I hate this spoiled bitch so much. This theatre was built specially for her. This stage, in fact, was designed so she could feel the vibrations of the music. The whole damn Capitol just loves their precious deaf princess, don't they? They'd given her so much, and what does she give them in return? Some silly dances? That's fucking pathetic! She's fucking pathetic! 

Why is it that she gets a special theatre and I don't? It's not fair! Why can't my hard work be recognized for once? 

Jemima sees me and freezes. She makes to scuttle back behind the curtain but I grab her arm before she can do so. 

“Where's Hermes?” I ask through clenched teeth. 

Jemima waves her hands around in some weird manner. Everyone calls it sign language. But of course, I don't understand it. She should fucking know this by now. 

“She says she doesn't know.” I don't even need to look behind the curtain to know that the Whore From Four is heading our way. Great. Her butting into our little conversation is just what I needed. 

Of course though, I'm not allowed to refer to her as the Whore From Four out loud, which both bothers and disappoints me. 

“Hello, Hilo,” I say dangerously. 

“Hello, Leah,” she responds, taking a drag from the cigarette in the holder in her hand. As usual, she's dressed in some outfit that’s way too skimpy to ever be referred to as clothes. Hell, I wouldn't even call it underwear. I quickly avert my eyes. 

“Do you know where Hermes is?” I ask. 

“Nope. Haven't seen him since Wednesday.” Hilo takes another drag. “Why do you want to know?” 

I glare at her. “Why do you think? I'm his girlfriend! Don't you think I have a right to know?” 

Hilo shakes her head with a mischievous smile. “No, not really.” 

I resist the urge to slap her. “You do know where he is, don't you?” I raise my voice a little, conscious of the murmurs from the audience behind me. “You're just trying to keep him from me, aren't you? You want to break us up! You just want him all to yourself, don't you?” 

Hilo chuckles. “Hon, he's twice my age. I have some dignity.” 

“Judging by that outfit of yours, I don't think so.” 

“What, this thing?” Hilo glances down at herself. “I wear this for freedom of movement. Makes things much easier.” 

We’re interrupted by Jemima grabbing Hilo’s arm and signing frantically. Hilo signs back then turns to me. 

“Yeah, we're starting the performance now, so you might wanna leave.” 

“Not until you tell me where Hermes is! I know you know!” 

“We told you. We don't know. Now please leave before we call for security. Actually, considering that you were able to get past them, they must be sleeping on the job…” 

I finally decide to leave, but not before I give the two of them the most withering look I can manage. Then I turn around and stalk off the stage. 

Hermes may have given me the slip this time, but I'll catch up to him, mark my words.


	12. Chapter 12

**Medea Walton, 31 years old**   
_Five months before the 36th Hunger Games_

When I step out of the bathroom, Hermes is already asleep. He's curled up in the fetal position, wrapped snugly in the blankets. His face has settled into an expression of peace that I haven't seen in way too long. 

I'm glad for it. He deserves a break. Preferably one that lasts for the rest of his life. 

Moving quietly so as not to disturb him, I remove the towel from my body and put it in the laundry basket along with my lingerie. Then I rummage around in my belongings until I find my violet silk and lace nightgown. Pulling it on, I walk over to the window and push past the heavy brown curtains just enough for me to see out the window. 

My favourite thing about the Capitol has always been the view. In the week leading up to my Games, I would stay up half the night, just gazing out the window as I was looking into outer space. The lights shine just like little stars. Very brightly coloured neon stars. 

We're right in the heart of the city, in a room with a view. When I look out, I can see all kinds of lights: street lights,store lights, club lights, apartment lights. A guilty pleasure of mine was always staring in through people's windows. I liked to look at their rooms, their furniture and belongings, and what they themselves were doing. I'm in the perfect place for that right now. Across the street is an apartment building. In one room, I can see a man watching television and throwing his hands up in a wild cheer. On a balcony is a woman watering a wide array of potted plants. 

Hermes always thought it was weird to watch other people. He certainly wouldn't like to be spied on like that, he told me. 

Speaking of Hermes… 

He's still asleep thankfully. He deserves it. It's been a pretty stressful day, trying to get him away from Leah without her noticing. She sticks to his side like a leech. 

Hopefully he was able to unwind a bit tonight. 

The neat freak in me says that I should make him have a shower, then strip the sheets and send them away to be washed, but I ignore it. Let the man rest. 

A soft knock at the door has me over there in three seconds flat. As soon as I open it, Hilo breezes past me into the room. She's wearing a thin black robe and is holding a bag in one hand and a cigarette holder in the other. 

“Aaah,” Hilo sighs as she kicks off her shoes. “That's better. My feet are soooo sore.” She takes off her robe and dumps it on the black leather sofa. All she's wearing now is her dancing costume from her performance tonight. It's very skimpy. Seriously. I've seen more modest clothing in pornos. 

But, I'm not wearing anything particularly modest either. And there are more important things than what clothes we’re wearing. 

“Did you see Leah tonight?” I ask as I sit down next to her. 

“I did.” 

“Does she suspect anything?” 

Hilo shrugs one shoulder. “I'm sure she knows you have something to do with it, but I don't think she knows where you are.” 

I sigh inwardly, relieved. “Thanks for covering for us.” 

“No problem.” Hilo takes a drag on her cigarette. She glances over at Hermes curled up in bed, and at the pile of clothes messily heaped on the floor. “Busy night?” 

“Mhm.” 

A sly grin spreads across her face. “She's going to be so pissed when she finds out.” 

“ _If_ she finds out,” I say, folding my arms. “Anyway, how's Jemima?” 

“Fine. A little rattled after our lovely encounter with Leah, but fine.” Hilo pulls both legs up onto the sofa and rests an arm on them. “The crowds were crazy tonight. You thought they were loud when Jemima danced? You should have heard what happened when I came out onstage. Thought my eardrums were gonna burst.” 

“They sure love you.” I fall silent. Hilo does too. 

Victor prostitution has been going on for several years now. Only the newest and most gorgeous Victors are deemed worthy enough for the Capitol. That means that, thankfully, I'm off the table, but Hilo meets all the criteria. She only won last year, had a very memorable Games, and is truly one of the most beautiful people I've ever met. There is no way the Capitol hasn't gotten their filthy hands on her by now. 

I want to ask Hilo, but at the same time, I'm scared of what she might tell me. I'm scared of the horrors she may have endured. I'm scared that any Victors I mentor will befall the same fate. 

I just can't stand to hear about it. 

Then Hilo breaks the uncomfortable silence. “So, what exactly is the plan here?” 

“I'm going to stay with him for awhile. I'm not sure how long. I want to give him a break. Then I'll let him decide if he wants to go back to Leah.” 

“Why let him go back? Why not just make him stay with you?” 

I gaze tenderly at his peaceful, sleeping form. “Because I'm trying to do the opposite of what she's doing: giving him choices. Giving him the opportunity to decide what he wants to do. If I just force him to do what I want, it'll probably just drive him away. I'm trying to give him some control over his life.” 

Hilo nods solemnly. It's the most serious I've ever seen her. “Good,” she says quietly. “That's real good of you.” 

I nod in response. Hermes has been through too much. And I know that there's still stuff he refuses to tell me. He needs a rest. 

“So anyway, what are you doing tomorrow?” Hilo stretches out her arms and arches her back. “I'm thinking of hitting the mall. There's a sale on at The Bathhouse that I really want to check out.” 

I shrug. “Maybe we'll come with you. If it's safe to do so, I mean.” 

I really hope it is.


	13. Chapter 13

**Leah Rockwell, 36 years old**  
_Five months before the 36th Hunger Games_

I'm curled up in a chair, angrily reading some magazine that I'd randomly picked up and carried away from somewhere. It's just some fashion magazine with a whole lot of overly glossy photos of outrageous outfits. Normally I like looking at pictures of clothes, but not tonight. Tonight, I'm mad. More than mad. Furious, actually. 

I still haven't heard back from Hermes. None of the other Victors have, either, though the truthfulness of their claims is up for debate, if you ask me. I wouldn't put it past any of them to lie to my face. But regardless, Hermes isn't anywhere to be seen. 

The avox standing at attention by the doorway is clearly scared of me - I can see it in the way she stands as stiff as a board and how she clenches and unclenches her fists. Good. Let her fear me. That's one way of gaining respect, after all. 

I'm sure she's nervous that I'd take my anger out on her. Well, to that I say, if she doesn't fuck anything up, then she has nothing to worry about. 

p>Though, I am itching to punch something. I am _so fucking angry._

I haven't seen it heard from Hermes in _three fucking days,_ what in the hell is he even doing? Where even is he? Why hasn't he told me anything? 

The air freshener spritzes out a burst of magnolia. I breathe it in deeply, trying to calm myself. It's fine. It's all fine. 

_It's not fucking fine._

I do have to admit, it isn't so bad not having Hermes around. I don't have to put up with his whingeing, I don't have to look at his stupid pitiful face, and I certainly don't have to put up with his attitude. 

_Am I not good enough for him?_

I can make decisions without having to battle over them. I can order the avoxes to make the dishes I want to eat. Hell, I can finally rearrange the dining table the way I want it. And there will be no one around to stop me. 

_I bet he's off fucking Medea, that horrid bitch._

I could get used to this. Just me, myself and I, facing the world one day at a time. Ruling every day with an iron will and good nature. 

_Betraying, lying, spiteful bastard._

A knock comes at the door. The avox immediately goes to open it. 

And whaddya know? In walks Hermes, a suitcase in hand and an expression of guilt. I stand up and fold my arms, glaring at him in a way that makes him flinch. 

“And just where have _you_ been?” I demand. 

Hermes looks away from me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, nowhere in particular. Just around.” 

“Oh? ‘Just around’, eh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Tell me, just what were you doing?” 

Hermes doesn't immediately answer. I clear my throat loudly to get his attention back on the subject at hand. 

“Well?” 

“I was with Medea.” It comes out quickly, like he had been trying to hold it back but it had still burst from his lips regardless. So, he was trying to keep it a secret. 

“And what were you doing with Medea?” I don't give him a chance to even open his mouth. “You know what, don't even bother. I'm sure I can guess _exactly_ what you were doing with Medea.” Her very name is like poison on my lips. “I'm so disappointed in you, Hermes. You take off without a word just so you can be with Medea, even though you know exactly how I feel about her! And then you just waltz back in through the door like nothing ever happened!” 

Hermes flinches under my words. Yes, let him feel guilty for everything he'd put me through. 

“I'm sorry, Leah,” he mumbles, “it was a mistake. I promise I won't do anything like this ever again, I swear!” 

I move closer to him. “You mean it this time?” 

“Yes. I really do.” And he gingerly approaches me and hugs me. 

Normally I'd hit him, but strangely, all my earlier anger has dissipated. And a gleeful pride has taken its place. 

I've got him. I've got him for good this time. I know it. 

He'd spent three days with that Medea bitch, any maybe other women too, and yet he still came crawling back to me in the end! It just goes to show that no one else is good enough for him but me. No one else knows him like I do, no one else can please him like I do. I'm the only one for him. 

I hug him back, and I don't ever intend on letting go.


	14. Chapter 14

**Leah Rockwell, 41 years old**   
_Five months after the 41st Hunger Games_

Tonight is easily one of the best nights of my life. 

The food is fantastic, the drinks are flowing, the people here are so lovely, even Hermes is behaving himself for once… Yes, this is an amazing night. This is how it should be every night! 

With all the fun and laughter, it's so hard to believe that this was an actual arena in the Games. Hell, it was hard to believe that this ever could be an arena in the first place. 

It's such a beautiful place, what with the forest and the cute little cabins and, of course, the lake. The stars are so clear out here at night. They reflect off the surface of the lake. And the fire pit is massive. People are over there, laughing and dancing and roasting marshmallows. 

I'm not an outdoorsy person in the slightest, but I could totally stay here for the rest of my life. 

The atmosphere is the greatest part. Just people having fun together, like the kids who once went to this camp would have done when this place was still in use. The tour guide is preparing for a late-night tour of the kill spots. Logan, who had been brought in to provide entertainment, is doing just that, juggling oranges and wowing those around him. Down by the lake, another guide is overseeing a reenactment of a battle on the pier. 

It's all fun and games here. 

I'm excited for what tomorrow will bring. The guides have kept the itinerary secret, saying that it's a surprise. And no matter how much the richer guests have bribed them with, they won't breathe so much as a word. “Wait for tomorrow,” they told us. 

It's just a shame that Brady isn't joining us; Logan told me that Brady wasn't feeling well. It's a damn shame indeed. He's pretty good-looking. 

But oh well. There's still plenty of fun to be had here, even if there aren't any pretty boys to look at. After all, I can have plenty of fun with my own man. In fact, I'll go do that right now. Where did he get to? 

I go back into the mess hall so I can find someone to refill my champagne glass. It's noisy and crowded in here, but I'm soon attended to by an avox, then I go and find Hermes. He's standing by the window talking to some loser I don't recognise. 

I lay a hand on his arm. “Hello, honey,” I say sweetly, “want to go somewhere more private?” 

He smiles shakily at me. “I'm talking to someone. Maybe later, Leah.” The man he's talking to looks away awkwardly. 

I grip Hermes’s arm as tightly as I can. He yelps loud enough to catch the attention of those nearest to us. I growl at him and he shuts up immediately. 

“Come _on,_ I want to go have a little fun.” 

This time he listens. 

But as soon as we step outside, Logan pops up. Brilliant. Just what we needed right now. 

“Sup Hermes, my dude!” He throws an arm around Hermes’s shoulders. “Wanna go roast marshmallows with me?” 

I give him one of my famous withering looks. “Actually, Hermes and I were going to have a little private time.” I keep Hermes’s sleeve firmly in my grasp. 

Logan raises an eyebrow. I catch the look on Hermes’s face and feel so embarrassed that I might throw up. His face looks sick, worried; silently pleading with Logan to save him. It's just gross. He doesn't need saving from anything. He's being silly. 

Logan moves quickly, though. With one swift movement, he's already leading Hermes away from me. He turns around briefly to say, “They're serving macarons in the mess hall. I know how much you love macarons and I don't want you to miss out!” 

I'm about to shout after them, when I hear a cry of, “Who wants macarons?” from inside. Well, okay then. He was telling the truth. 

But that doesn't mean I forgive him for taking Hermes away from me. 

Soon after I finish stuffing my face with macarons, a bell rings out, signalling curfew. Seriously? Curfew at our age. They're really taking those whole ‘realistic campsite’ thing to the extreme! 

And that also means that we have to sleep on these really uncomfortable inflatable mattresses. Well, I have to, at least. The others get to sleep on stretchers. Unfortunately, there weren't enough stretchers to go around so now Hermes and I are stuck with the mattress. 

We meet up at our tent. Oh yeah, did I mention that there weren't enough cabins to go around so some of us have to sleep in tents? Because that's what's happened. This night has really taken a turn for the worse all of a sudden. The camp seems much less beautiful now that all of this has happened. 

As I lay on the mattress, I can hear others snoring from within their cabins. Come on! Is this what camping is like? If so, then I'm never doing it ever again after tonight. 

Emphasis on _after tonight,_ because tonight is feeling like it’s going on forever. Hermes is already out cold and I'm left alone with my thoughts. I'm so bored that there's nothing to do but count everyone's total snores. Yes, for real. 

My count reaches three-hundred-and-twenty-two before I feel my eyelids start to droop. 

~*~ 

It's warm. I don't feel uncomfortable at all now. I guess my body just adjusted to the new bed. That's something, I guess. 

It feels kind of like I'm bobbing around. Maybe that's just all in my head. Sometimes, when I sleep in unfamiliar beds, my head feels like that. It's annoying, but whatever. 

I roll over and the blankets pull off of my leg. It's suddenly cold now. Weird. 

Then a breeze blows, scattering my blankets. What the-

I open my eyes. At first I don't recognise my surroundings. It's green and blue and kind of blurry. And very bright. I sit up straight and rub my eyes. 

When I reopen them, I scream. 

I'm still in bed, alright. But the bed is floating in the middle of the fucking lake! 

How in the ever loving fuck did this happen?! What the fuck is going on?! 

On the lakeshore are two figures. I realise that it's Logan and Hermes. Logan is bent over double, laughing like a maniac. Hermes is watching, with what looks to be a smile on his face. Those fucking bastards! 

They did this! I know they did! Who else could it have been? The mattress didn't just grow legs and decide to go for a swim!! Those fuckers. They think this is so funny? Wait til I get over there! I'll kick their sorry asses into next week. 

“You fucking cocksuckers, you!!!” I throw the blankets off and stand up. “When I get over there-!” 

Standing up was a bad idea, it turns out. The mattress wobbles underneath me, practically giving way beneath me and I fall into the lake. Fuck! I just fucking snorted lake water up my nose! Fuck my life! 

When I resurface, Logan is laughing so hard that I'm surprised his vocal chords aren't completely worn through by now. He slaps his knee then falls to the ground, still laughing. 

Hermes continues to smile, but that smile drops off his face the second he makes eye contact with me. That gleeful expression of his is quickly replaced with dread. 

As it should be. 

He's going to regret doing this to me, mark my fucking words!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based this chapter on a Vine. I'm sure you can guess which one it was lol.


	15. Chapter 15

**Leah Rockwell, 44 years old**  
One week after the 44th Hunger Games

I'm leaving the bathroom after washing my hands when I hear something odd. Some kind of muffled gasping, accompanied by a couple other sounds that I can't even identify. It's very quiet, but now I'm intrigued. 

I pause for a moment. The main ballroom downstairs is still noisy. Everyone's pretty drunk. The President has this special booze that he only breaks out once every year at the Victor’s Banquet, and everyone goes absolutely hogwild over it. I don't see why. It doesn't even taste that good. 

Seriously. Everyone is so fucking loud that I can't even tell where the weird noises are coming from. 

I move towards the staircase leading back to the ballroom. Nope. I can't hear it now, so it mustn't be coming from there. 

I walk back along the hallway until I reach the end, where it branches off into two other hallways. On a whim, I decide to go right. It quickly leads to a dead end. The only thing here is a door with a sign reading, “Janitor’s Closet. No Unauthorised Entry. Hazardous Chemicals.” But the sound is louder now. It must be coming from inside. 

Very quietly, I crack the door open slowly and peek my head round. I immediately regret it. 

I always knew Atari was nothing more than a total whore, but I really didn't need to see her and Dominic grinding dramatically against each other for my suspicions to be proven. 

It's just plain gross to see the two of them behaving like this. The way they move is nothing short of animalistic. It's very frantic and graspy and needy. And they've still got all their clothes on. Yuck. 

What's even more yucky is the fact that this is literally the first time they've ever laid eyes on each other. Atari only came out of the arena a week ago, and she's already shacked up with another Victor. What a slut. 

A prickle of fear makes its way up my spine. Atari is, admittedly, very attractive. She could get anyone she wants. Any man would be drooling over the thought of being with her. 

What I'm trying to say is: there's nothing stopping her from trying to seduce Hermes. 

And I'll be damned if I let that happen. It happened with Medea, but I need to make sure that Hermes doesn't ever make that mistake ever again. 

An idea forms in my mind. One that will ensure that nobody else goes after him, ever. He’ll always be mine. Only mine. 

I race back down the hallway and down the stairs into the ballroom. I immediately catch sight of Hermes talking to Leto by the dessert table. I'm over by his side in an instant, glaring at Leto as I shove her away with my shoulder. She bumps into a man and spills his wine all over his ugly yellow jacket. 

I ignore the commotion behind me as I look Hermes straight in the eyes. “Hermes, let's get married.” 

His eyes widen. “W-what?” 

“You heard me. I want to get married. I want to do it before we get too old. We're not getting any younger, you know.” 

“You guys are getting married?” Leto asks, loud enough that half the ballroom swivels their heads in our direction. 

“Who's getting married?” some random person in the crowd asks. 

“Hermes and Leah!” 

“Oh my goodness, how cute!” A lady with curly pink hair squeals. 

“I was wondering when you two would finally tie the knot!” someone else adds. The others in the crowd murmur in agreement. 

I glance back at Hermes. He looks incredibly nervous and fearful, but of what? He should be happier. He's getting married to me, after all! 

I nudge him and glare. He gets the point. 

“Yeah. I'm really excited. Can't wait.” His smile is shaky. 

The paparazzis will be all over us tomorrow. The reporters will be following us everywhere, desperate to get more of this heartwarming love story. They’ll get the word out: Hermes is taken. For good this time. 

I stand there and beam wildly, as a newly engaged woman should. 

Hermes stands there and looks like he's about to faint, which a newly engaged man should not.


	16. Chapter 16

**Leah Massassi, 45 years old**   
_One month before the reapings for the 45th Hunger Games_

Hermes is mine. Officially mine. Now he can no longer prance around with other women without some kind of verbal lashing from the masses. 

About time. Now he knows that he's not allowed to be a little man-whore anymore. 

I would only allow the unattractive Victors at our wedding, so that he wouldn't be tempted. So no Medea, Electra, Atari or the Whore From Four. 

I also only allowed people who had supported us, which unfortunately meant that neither of our families could come. They kicked up a big stink about it but hey, it's their own fault. Not once have they ever said anything great about my relationship with Hermes. Both his family and mine told me that the way I treated him was terrible and that I should stop being so selfish. My own mother said that she was ashamed to be related to me! 

Fine. Fuck them. I don't need them. 

There were plenty of others who were willing to join in on this celebration of our love. They've been so kind and thoughtful. They even kept an eye on Hermes to make sure he didn't get cold feet. 

Alas, this wedding could have been perfect if it wasn't for fucking Hermes and his pathetic fucking face. The whole day he was just standing around with a shell-shocked expression. Talk about a mood killer! He was acting like he'd rather be anywhere else. 

Ungrateful bastard. After everything I've done for him, he never once said thank you. 

Today was a long day. It was fun, too! Lots of drinking, dancing and other shenanigans. It was very exhausting, though. Now it's nighttime, and Hermes and I are about to get up to some shenanigans of our own, if you know what I mean. 

I'm in bed, all ready to go. Hermes said he needed to use the bathroom first. He'd better hurry up. He's been in there for ages. 

I let myself sink back into the pillow. It is literally the fluffiest pillow I have slept on. I'm practically sinking into it. The mattress as well. Everything around me is so soft and round and cute and squishy, it's like a dream. 

Some friends had given us vouchers for a week at the Ivory Towers hotel as a wedding present. It's easily one of the best gifts I've ever gotten. The Ivory Towers is probably the most luxurious hotel in the whole country. I feel like a queen. A very nice pampered one. A week of relaxation for our honeymoon is just what the doctor ordered. 

It's nice and quiet, too. You can barely hear the late-night traffic from here… 

Hermes is taking an awfully long time in the bathroom. 

It's really quiet. I can't hear the toilet flushing, or water running, or anything like that. What is he even doing in there? 

I jump out of bed and march over to the door. I knock on it rapidly and shout, “Hermes! Hurry the fuck up, will you?” 

No reply. 

I bang harder. “HERMES!!” 

Nothing. 

I stop and listen, pressing my ear right up against the door. There is something… It's quiet, but it sounds like whimpering and crying. 

I roll my eyes. Whatever Hermes is crying about, I don't care. He can be so overdramatic sometimes. 

But what I do care about us carrying on with my night! This is meant to be our honeymoon, dammit! 

I try the doorknob. Locked. That won't stop me. 

I raise my foot and slam it against the door, once, twice, three times. There is a little bit of give in it. I ram my shoulder into the door. The door bulges and I smile. 

“Don't think you can keep me out just because you locked the door!” I call sweetly. “I'm coming in there, whether you like it or not!” 

On my fourth shoulder ram, the door finally bangs open. I step inside and scream. 

Hermes is lying on the floor next to the bathtub. There is blood all over his arms and torso. His face is caked with tears. He squirms and moves as if he's trying to sit up. He simply flops back to the floor, sending droplets of blood flying everywhere. 

I run out of the room screaming. 

~*~ 

Here I am, sitting in another hospital waiting room, bored out of my mind. There's nothing for me to do but think about what had just happened. Worst honeymoon ever. 

After I alerted the hospital staff, an ambulance arrived. They carried out Hermes on a stretcher. His skin had gone all pale and his eyes were closed. He wasn't dead yet, thank god, but once I'm through with him he's gonna wish he was! 

The paramedic told me something shocking: Hermes had slashed open both wrists with a razor blade. 

He'd tried to _fucking kill himself?!_ Why? How could he? 

We'd just gotten married! Was I not good enough for him? If he had a problem then why didn't he just come and talk to me about it? 

Why would he do something like that? Why? 

What's the matter with him? 

How could it have all gone so wrong?


	17. Chapter 17

**Leah Rockwell, 50 years old**   
_Two weeks after the 50th Hunger Games_

I'm not supposed to be here, but what-fucking-ever. I'm too busy checking up on Hermes to care about that stupid fucking restraining order. 

I'm sitting on a bench on one of the Capitol’s busiest streets. Across the street is the Lovely Dove cafe. I can see Hermes sitting at one of the outside tables with Jemima and Haymitch, Panem’s newest, shiniest Victor. 

Jemima constantly looks as if she is on the verge of tears. She won't stop hugging Haymitch. Haymitch just looks depressed as fuck. Knowing the kind of dump that Twelve is, he probably is. 

Hermes is talking. I'm too far away to hear what exactly. Jemima and Haymitch are both nodding. Jemima waves her hand around in that little sign language of hers. If they didn't look so depressed, it'd actually look kinda peaceful. 

To tell you the truth, I'm amazed that they haven't been absolutely swamped with fans and paparazzis and well-wishers all wanting to have a piece of Twelve’s second-ever Victor. I scoff. You know your district sucks when getting your second Victor is a noteworthy accomplishment. 

Please. District Two had three Victors before the first decade of the Games was even over! Admittedly we haven't yet had another such rash of Victors in a similar amount of time, but still! We won last year! And we have one Victor more than those stupid prissy losers in One. Maybe one day they'll pull their heads out if their beautiful asses and work harder. 

Across the street, Hermes exchanges goodbyes and leaves. Silently, I get up and follow him. 

I'm not supposed to be doing this. If I get caught, I'm going to be in huge trouble. Hell, I'm not sure why I'm even doing this in the first place. But there's a blackened part of my heart that wants to ruin him. If he’s so sure that I hurt him, then I'll fucking hurt him. 

I haven't been back to Two since our disaster of a wedding. I couldn't beat the thought of returning to face my peers. Instead, a very dear friend has been letting me stay in the Capitol, at her house. I'll forever be grateful to her. 

And since she lives quite close to the centre of town, it makes it easy to simply go on an outing for the day on the fly. Which was what I was doing when I caught sight of Hermes. It was the first time I'd seen him in six years, so of course I had to see what he was up to. 

I hadn't seen him since he was loaded into that ambulance. I wasn't allowed to see him at the hospital. The doctors told me that it was because he needed rest, but something told me it was because Hermes had lied and said that I was making him “crazy” or some bullshit like that. He was never the type to take responsibility for his own actions, that one. 

My suspicions were proven correct when I was served with a restraining order a week later, and our marriage was annulled. I was ordered to never have any contact with him again, or else I'd be thrown in jail. Disappointingly, I couldn't contact him through someone else either. 

I was steaming inside. How could Hermes do this to me? How could he just sit there and blame me for all his problems? How could he act like this is all my fault? What did I ever do to him? 

Okay, sure, I guess I did hit him a few times, but he really did deserve it. Besides, I didn't even hit him that hard. He's stronger than me, anyhow. He should be able to take it. 

But all the limitations didn't stop me from trying to find him again. 

I got a lucky break when a friend of a friend who worked in the hospital told me that Hermes was transferred to a psych ward, where he'd apparently remained for the last five year. Today was his first unsupervised outing to the city, apparently. Lucky him. 

But one thing that kills me about this whole thing is the secrecy. Not just the fact that Hermes hid from me, but the fact that none of it - the attempted suicide, the annulment of our marriage, the restraining order, Hermes in a psych ward - was released to the public. They're completely in the dark about it, save for a few lucky individuals on the inside. I've been ordered to keep my mouth shut about it. 

It's so annoying to not be able to tell anyone about it, like my friends, for example. I could really use their support right about now. 

I just wish that everything could go back to normal. 

It's hard to keep track of Hermes from the other side of the street and in a busy crowd, and it's not long before I lose sight of him altogether. Goddammit! 

I stop outside a store and let out a frustrated huff. But when I breathe in again, I smell magnolias. I look inside the store. A florist! Great! A nice big bouquet if my favourite flower is just what I needed to cheer myself up! 

As I go inside and order one, I grimace inwardly. 

Hermes, I know you're out there somewhere. Don't think you can get away from me that easily, you sneaky, lying bastard.


	18. Chapter 18

**Leah Rockwell, 60 years old**   
_Night One of the 60th Hunger Games_

My whole life is a disgrace. 

Look how far I've fallen! I went from being the girlfriend of a reasonably popular Victor to living with my friend and working at a fucking clothing store to earn my keep. It's pathetic. I used to be much better than this! 

I used to be like these customers, striding around with armfuls of luxurious garments, wondering which ones I should get and what accessories might go with them. 

Now I'm just like every other stupid customer service drone: scurrying around, waiting on them hand and foot, forever at their beck and call. 

I've taken to wearing wigs and heavy makeup so that no one will recognise me. I can do without the negative press, thank you very much. 

My life has been horrible for the past fifteen years, when Hermes decided to fuck everything up on our wedding night. Selfish bastard. I bet he's prowling the streets right now, looking for some slut willing to sleep with an older man. He's probably glad my whole life is in ruins thanks to him. Maybe I should have tried harder to keep him under my thumb. 

My family disowned me. And they did it in the most fucking spiteful way possible! 

They'd invited me back to Two for the reading of my mother’s will. I was a little surprised, to be honest, because I’d expected them to scream at me about missing her last days and her funeral, but whatever. I was really excited, wondering how much money my mother had left me. As long as it was at least a few ten thousand dollars, then I could accept that for all she'd done to me. 

Well, it wasn't a few ten thousand dollars. 

It was _one cent._ Yes, a single fucking cent, with an accompanying message about how she regretted ever having me and that I was a disgrace but just to my family, but to my district as well. 

Needless to say, I was furious. I tried to reason with everyone about how this was stupid and how I never did anything wrong, but they just kept yelling at me to stop screaming. I was not about to take that kind of bullshit from them, so I fought back as viciously as I could. It was what they deserved, after all. 

I ended up getting disowned. Fuck them. 

My one saving grace in this whole shitstorm has been my friend Adora. She's been letting live with her since Hermes fucked everything up. She is such an angel, truly. 

Unfortunately, money is getting harder to come by now, so we've had to get jobs in order to support ourselves. Which is why I'm stuck in this stupid clothing store. 

I keep my eyes on the clock, waiting for it to chime eight o’clock so that I can meet up with Adora, who works at the shoe shop across the street, so that we can go home. To my continuous misfortune, the clock only reads six-thirty. Still an hour and a half to go. Fuck my life. 

I've lived for six decades now, and I've spent one of them living a shitty life that is only a cheap imitation of the other five. I still can't believe what's happened to me. 

I shouldn't be here! I should be living in a grand house, hosting elegant dinner parties, gossiping with the ladies, and buying beautiful clothes to suit my beautiful body. 

But no. All that was stripped away from me the second Hermes decided to take that razor blade to his wrists. I will never forgive him for that. 

Maybe it would have been better if he had ended up dying, after all. Everyone would have wanted to help and comfort me. Everyone would have treated me with kindness and respect, because it's bad form to be rude to a widow. And I would have been forgiven for anything I needed forgiving for. I would have been a widow, hiding behind an impenetrable veil of constant grief and misery. 

I grit my teeth. I hate him. I really do. He ruined my entire life, and then he just waltzed off without a care in the world. Despicable little rat. 

He deserves to be punished for what he did to me. It's been a long time coming. Unfortunately, I can't get too close to him, or else I'd be thrown in prison for violating the restraining order. A shame, really. There are so many things I want to do to him. They would have all been so much worse than the time I put him in the hospital. 

My thoughts are disturbed by a customer snapping their fingers at me to get my attention, then sharply telling me to help them carry the clothes they want to try on. 

I feel my temper rise deep within my bones. I fucking hate it when people snap their fingers at me like I'm a dog. Or an Avox. Can't they see that I'm a human being just like them? Why can't they just treat me with some basic respect? 

I hate dealing with these types of people. They make your life difficult then act like it’s your fault. I would love to punch them in the face, but unfortunately I really need the money and can't afford to get fired - literally. 

Smug assholes. They know they have more money than me and love to flaunt it in my face, as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?” I can't wait until I'm among the cream of Capitol society again. Then I'll show these stupid bastards whose boss. 

They'll regret crossing me. I'll make sure they will. Even if it fucking kills me. 

And I'll make Hermes pay, too. He can't hide behind that restraining order forever. It has to expire eventually. And when it does, I'll be waiting for him. 

I won't let him get away with this. Not as long as I'm still alive.


	19. Chapter 19

**Leah Rockwell, 66 years old**  
_Three days after the 66th Hunger Games_

I know, deep down, that I shouldn't be doing this. I can get in real trouble if I'm caught. But fuck it. I want Hermes to know just how fucking selfish and useless he is. 

I fucking lost my bet because the tribute he mentored died in the most stupid fucking way possible! 

And even worse is that I'd taken some of Adora’s money for my bet, and now it's gone. She's gonna kill me when she finds out! 

We were so close. The Two boy was in the final two. We were so close to winning! 

But no. That weirdo from Six had to ruin it all by climbing out the fucking window! 

I spot Hermes across the street from me and dash over to him. Panic cements itself on his face as he tries to scurry away, but the streets are jam-packed with people celebrating, and he can't get away. 

“You stupid fuck!” I scream at him. “You're so fucking useless!” 

“Leave me alone!” he shouts, scared. 

“You fucking lost everyone their bets because you're such a useless mentor! You lost to fucking Six of all places, and it wasn't even the smart tribute who won!” 

“Hey!” a voice shouts from the near distance that I know belongs to Gearshift. “No one insults my tributes but me!” 

Hermes looks horrified. “You'd rather have a cannibal as a Victor than-” 

“I'd much rather have that Two boy alive, but sure! I'd rather have the cannibal that fucking what's-her-face!” 

Hermes stares at me like I've just insulted the President. I glare back at him, doing my best to make my displeasure known, and making sure he knows that he's the cause of it. 

“You really shouldn't be here, Leah,” he says. “You’re in violation of the restraining order! You're going to get arrested once the authorities find out.” 

“You will tell them no such thing,” I firmly instruct him. “I was never here. And even if I was, we just passed each other on the street. Nothing happened.” 

“I'll come forward as a witness and tell them otherwise,” Gearshift shows up then, walking stick in hand. “I'm not letting you get away with breaking the law!” 

“Why don't you take that walking stick of yours and shove it up your ass, you old dried-up piece of shit?” I'm so fucking sick of Gearshift thinking he can get away with being a judgmental loser just because he's old. 

A group of people overhears our exchange and stops and stares at us. Great. This is just what I need right now. An audience. Normally I love being the center of attention, but now isn't really the best time. Like, excuse me, I'm trying to put some assholes in their place, thank you very much! 

Gearshift’s face darkens. “I've got a right mind to shove this up _your_ ass if you don't fuck off and leave us alone!” 

“Try me, bitch.” 

But before I can even react, Gearshift raises his arms up lightning-fast and clocks me over the head with his old antique walking stick. Geez. For an old man who can't even fucking walk properly, he sure can move fast. 

“You bastard!” I yell. Without even thinking about it, I snatch some random lady’s purse and throw it at his head. He dodges it easily. 

Now the people around us are chanting, _“fight, fight, fight!”_ Even the woman whose purse I took doesn't seem too upset about it. 

Hermes moves between us, his hands held out to prevent us from getting too close to each other. “Please stop fighting, the both of you!” His face is twisted, pleading. “Leah, please just go home! You're not even supposed to be here!” 

Now the crowd is confused. Of course. They don't know about the restraining order, or about anything, really. 

I glare at Hermes. Gearshift glares back at me but I ignore him. I clench my teeth and fists. I'm so angry that I feel I might explode. 

But then I catch sight of people with their phones out. Fuck me. They're recording everything! 

And knowing how hungry the Capitol is for drama, the videos are gonna be all over social media within minutes! 

Just when I thought my life couldn't get any worse, it got fucking worse! 

I take a deep breath, the deepest breath I've ever taken, then turn around and walk away. Fuck it. I'd better end this whole thing now before it gets even _more_ worse. 

I walk off the sidewalk and step onto the street. 

Then there's the screeching of tires, then suddenly I'm being catapulted into the air and I become dimly aware of how much my right side hurts and all I can think of is _fuck it fuck it all what the fuck is the matter with the universe why does it hate me so much_ and everything instantly cuts to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can all agree that this had been a long time coming. I hope you all like it!


	20. Chapter 20

**Hermes Massassi, 67 years old**   
_Day Eleven of the 68th Hunger Games_

The city looks so beautiful from up here. It looks like a sea of twinkling stars, each one with their own people orbiting it, going about their lives. For once, I can understand why Medea likes to watch them. 

Medea. I don't know how to feel about her anymore. I still love her, deep down in some forbidden part of my heart, but after everything that happened, I feel like I'm not allowed to love her. 

I kept my distance from her after Leah died. It just felt wrong and sacreligious otherwise. 

But it didn't have to. That's the thing that bugs me the most. 

I should have ended it with Leah long before Medea decided to end it for me. And it's all my fault. I'm the reason why I am the way that I am. I let Leah boss me around and bully me and get away with it all. I wasn't strong enough to break it off with her. 

I was scared. Leah was my first serious long-time partner and I was determined to make it work. I wanted to prove that, no, our relationship wasn't just built on stupid teenage hormones. It was _real love._

I let my pride get in the way of my life. And then, once it became apparent that Leah was not who I thought she was, I let fear get in the way too. And now, when all has been said and done with no take-backs, I'm left with all sorts of scars. And not just physical ones, either. 

I don't want to be with anyone anymore. Yet I'm so lonely. I want to be the center of attention, to be lavished with the love and praise of someone who I want to lavish in return. But whenever I even think about finding another partner, my chest starts feeling constricted. My hands shake. I start to sweat. 

And now I'm just the ruins of a man. I'm just somebody’s sloppy seconds. 

I'm useless. Weak. Unlovable. What kind of self-respecting woman would ever take me? 

I'm not just useless in terms of my love life; I'm not a good mentor or trainer either. I haven't successfully mentored any tributes since Leto, and I'm too old to continue teaching at the Academy. They don't want an old fogey like me, they want the newest Victor to share with them their secrets of success. 

And it's sick too, that we’re even doing this in the first place. The Hunger Games are horrible. They always have been. I was just too blinded by the prospect of fame and superstardom to see it. But as soon as I was lifted out of that arena, I understood all too well, and I really wish I didn't. 

But of course, I'm not allowed to talk about that. Victors aren't supposed to share their feelings and their trauma. Boys don't cry. 

But that's what I'm doing right now. Crying. My tears blur the city lights into an unbearable twinkly mess. I'm glad that no one is around to hear me pour my heart out to my lonesome self, with only the wind keeping me company. I'd be looked down upon as pathetic. 

Even though I am pathetic. 

I won the Hunger Games, and a particularly brutal one at that, and I couldn't get my life together? I couldn't mentor more Victors? I let my girlfriend make my choices for me? What's the matter with me? 

The scars on my wrists scratch painfully at the cuffs of my sleeves, and I'm reminded of that night. The night when I let Leah make the biggest choice in life for me. The night when I couldn't handle my problems like a man. The night when I tried to take the easy way out. And I'm so fucking useless that I failed at that, too. 

Leah was always hanging over my thoughts like a dark cloud. She moved into my brain when I was what - fourteen or fifteen? - and has been living there, rent-free, ever since. Even when our marriage was annulled and she legally wasn't allowed to come near me anymore; anytime I stepped out onto the streets I thought, _Is Leah going to find me today? Is she going to get her way when she does?_

My whole life revolved around her. I wasted my life trying to elevate hers. My efforts were rarely, if ever, good enough. I was always a selfish bastard. 

She took over everything: my house, my heart, my mind. She left her mark on me, or should I say, she left me with scars. A great big hole in my heart that will never be filled. A confused, distorted brain that no longer seems my own. And those magnolias she always had in the house. 

Oh my god, magnolias. Words cannot describe how much I despise them. They represent my failure as a human being: their presence reminded me that I was not the one in charge. I never was. And I never will be. 

If I never have to see or smell those fucking flowers again, it would be too soon. 

Good thing I won't have to. 

I didn't come up to the roof of this apartment building just to admire the pretty lights. No. I came up here to make a big life decision. To make a choice for myself that no one can make for me, or interfere with. One that hopefully won't fail like the last one did. 

I sit on the edge and let my legs dangle. The street looks so far away below my feet. At this hour, it's practically deserted, which means that no one has to witness my fall. Good. I don't want anybody to see me now. 

They would try and talk me out of it, tell me that suicide is never the answer, say that life will always get better. I can appreciate the sentiment, but I can't accept it. 

The only time my life was good was before I started training for the Games. After that, it was all downhill. My heart is a rolling stone, constantly getting scratched, bumped and scraped by various debris in its way. Now it's nearing the bottom, where it will come to a rest forever. 

I feel horrible for everyone I'm leaving behind, but I feel like I need to do this. I wrote a note which I left in my apartment that explains everything. I hope they'll understand. I don't want my reasoning to be misunderstood. 

I also tried to encourage them not to cry, either. They'll see; it truly is better this way. They will be able to live their lives without me holding them back with my rolling heart. They'll be fine. They're strong people. 

I don't wipe away my tears. I don't try to suppress my sobs. I don't hesitate to push myself off from the roof and shut my eyes against the stinging wind. 

_I just want to stop rolling._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so that ends one more story for this series! I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you so much for all the comments/kudos/hits! They always make my day! 
> 
> See you in the next story!


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